


For the Betterment of Humanity

by distantstarlight



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AlphaJohn, Deleting Important Things From Mind Palace, Friends to Lovers, Heats, How blind can a consulting detective be?, John is an amazing doctor, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Missing Obvious Clues, Mpreg, OmegaSherlock, Omegaverse, Sherlock is an idiot, Sneaky plans, That last bit is supposed to be a funny surprise but people keep complaining so..., Virgin Sherlock, only because Sherlock keeps deleting his own memories despite how often people keep reminding him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-11 00:16:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7014532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantstarlight/pseuds/distantstarlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Calculations completed Sherlock sat back and contemplated the expansive spreadsheet he had constructed. He was positive he’d examined every variable. He’d plotted all possible outcomes, taken every possible permutation into consideration, and the results were very, very satisfying. Nodding his head sharply he got on with it. Spreadsheets were very nice as facts went, but tangible proof could only be gathered with proper legwork, as it were.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For the Betterment of Humanity

**Author's Note:**

> I know I have unfinished works pending, and things that were due probably yesterday. HOWEVER, I have been having issues completing things, and have had an internal war over how to use my time expeditiously. Ultimately I've decided that if I've got the wind under my sails for a particular story, I should go with it and not wait till later when that wind runs out and I'm left with no impetus.
> 
> I hope you enjoy. It's meant to be amusing.
> 
> Additional: since this IS omegaverse, there are readers that might feel the goings on are dubcon due to the particular social structure of that alternate reality. If you are sensitive to that then do not read omegaverse, but in this AU I feel that there is considerable differences between bowing to biology vs committing a crime against another sentient being.

##  

During his fecund life, Sherlock had sat through more A/O lectures than he could even be bothered to remember, in fact, he’d arrogantly deleted nearly all of them. He kept the technical information – ovulation cycles, signs of conception, male omega infertility triggers, and that sort of thing but only as it applied to others, normally to victims in murder cases. He completely rid his mind palace of the practicalities of sex, anything about pheromones, had _accidentally_ disposed of everything about heats because suppressants got rid of them so it wasn’t something he needed to bother recalling, and even scrubbed out a good portion of everyday social protocols, but _that_ particular deletion was on purpose.

After a lifetime of denial, Sherlock finally wanted a baby.

Well, no he didn’t, not really. What he _wanted_ was for other people to stop producing sub-standard issue, and focus on creating genetically superior children. _If people were only a little smarter there wouldn’t be so many dull crimes being committed. Honestly, it was as if criminals couldn’t be bothered to try very hard. He hadn’t had a decent case in ages._ Frustrated at long last, Sherlock made a decision. If people were just going to run about making babies without considering the consequences of rampant breeding, then the least he could do was contribute to the gene pool, and hopefully benefit _homo sapiens_ with his advanced physical and mental evolution.

Finding a sperm donor initially seemed to be a bit of a problem. Sherlock didn’t like people. He didn’t enjoy being touched. In fact, he didn’t even like speaking to 99% of the people he knew. He was also a virgin, but biology would surely take care of any skills he might be lacking, right? After mulling the problem over for some time Sherlock stumbled across a delightful solution. The _only_ person that he enjoyed being with wasn’t the best physical specimen, but he did have some points in his corner. _First_ , he was an alpha, and an alpha was what an omega like Sherlock needed. He couldn’t conceive with any other gender. _Second_ , the alpha was predominately protective and nurturing, two qualities Sherlock knew he himself was seriously lacking. _Third_ , and most important, he was handy. John Watson lived right there in 221 B Baker Street with Sherlock already. They were flatmates as well as best friends. _Who better to father Sherlock’s genius baby? Why, they wouldn’t even need to rent a cheap hotel room for the night, they could just pick a bedroom, or even the sofa. An hour together, then done, back to tea and crap telly, as per usual._ It was extraordinarily convenient.

There were negative points that he could not entirely dismiss. John was terribly short _but_ he made up for his lack of height with aggression, a typical small-man reaction. John was also only mid-range in intelligence, but Sherlock decided his own vast mind would more than compensate, that was the point, after all, to pass along his _much better_ DNA. John was also getting a bit old, but then again, so was Sherlock, and the omega decided it wasn’t going to be a problem. There was also the unfortunate lingering of John’s much prized heterosexuality. If Sherlock wanted to get pregnant by John _before_ mid-summer, he’d have to somehow get around the doctor’s aversion to sleeping with men. _A few drinks should do it. John was notoriously easy after he imbibed_.

Calculations completed Sherlock sat back and contemplated the expansive spreadsheet he had constructed. He was positive he’d examined every variable. He’d plotted all possible outcomes, taken every possible permutation into consideration, and the results were very, very satisfying. Nodding his head sharply, he got on with it. Spreadsheets were very nice as facts went, but tangible proof could only be gathered with proper legwork, as it were. He needed to test drive the entire concept to make sure it was feasible.

Sherlock spent three months tracking his personal ovulation, and compared it with John’s masturbatory habits. He had already deliberately missed two suppressant injection appointments so he would be properly fertile. The omega had thought everything through, mentally ticking his way through a check-list. Heats shouldn’t be a problem, after all, he’d read up on them. It seemed that they were no more than heightened arousal combined with a few necessary biological accommodations. He’d never gone through one, there had been no point. Sherlock had gone on suppressants the second he hit puberty, and by now, he was a master at controlling his transport. He was certain that he didn’t need to worry about heat, except as a reminder that he was at the peak of his receptiveness. He knew all about biological drives, why, he’d watched all sorts of insects create vast generations of progeny, clearly it wasn’t difficult. Making a mental note to look up human sexual techniques just before conception day, he did a few more calculations. According to the calendar he’d carefully worked out, Sherlock would be in heat by Friday evening, next week.

He put in extra time discouraging John’s dates, the doctor needed to be home that particular night, and possibly the Saturday as well. Sherlock had read that heats could last as long as a week, but he was on a schedule, surely once he was properly _enceinte_ , his body would know it and cease its continued effort to procreate. John obligingly stopped asking women out after Sherlock scuttled three different attempts to arrange romantic meetings, and was clearly resigned to being alone forever. That suited Sherlock. If his child needed minding, it was logical that the father be as available as possible. Sherlock had things to do after all, crimes weren’t going to solve themselves! With luck he’d be pregnant by next weekend, ready to deliver before the holidays, and ready to be back on the job by the new year. _Easy_.

With his goals now set, Sherlock went about preparing to romance the soldier into bed. It made sense to practice before conception. He’d read that orgasm increased the chances of success significantly. He was willing to put in the time beforehand to get good at it. One or two sessions ought to be enough. To start with, Sherlock cleaned his room. John appreciated things being tidy, and while housekeeping was never going to be Sherlock’s forte, he still managed to remake his bed, and to get his wardrobe door shut all the way. Next he went to the kitchen and binned all the more disturbing of his experiments. He wasn’t working on anything time-sensitive, and nothing he had going was impossible to re-start at a more advantageous time, like on Monday perhaps. _Baby-making_ was at the top of his list, not re-cataloguing fungi spores gathered from the back alleys of Central London. Once the physical environment was sorted, Sherlock got himself ready to practice becoming impregnated. He took a hot bath, shaved extra-close, and wrapped himself in his robe _sans_ pyjamas. Clothes were unnecessary, not for this. At the last moment he changed his mind, putting on a top and trousers that were fitted enough to look painted on.

That night, John came home in a bit of a temper. Obviously work had been frustrating, and belatedly Sherlock recognized that presenting his soon-to-be-baby-daddy with a hot meal might have furthered the evening’s agenda, but he hadn’t thought of it. Still, it wasn’t _too_ late, “I’m ordering in. What would you like?” John looked startled, but also grateful. They ordered Chinese, which Sherlock felt was only right, since it was the first cuisine they’d enjoyed together. To continue furthering his agenda Sherlock paid for the delivery instead of tricking John into doing so.

Sherlock plied John with food. After a bit of considering, he also provided a very nice wine that offset the saltiness of their meal. John was very appreciative, and indulged heavily. Once the meal was completed Sherlock carried their plates to the kitchen sink, flicked open the top two buttons of his extra-tight shirt, and made his walk as sultry as possible. Pausing dramatically in the entrance Sherlock waited a moment to allow John to feast on his appearance. There was no audible reaction. When Sherlock looked at the doctor he was disgruntled to discover that John had fallen asleep! There was a smile on his face though, and Sherlock found it both charming as well as provoking. He looked at the clock. It was past nine, and the doctor had been up for work at five that morning. Sighing, Sherlock decided the entire evening was a wash, and let his not-yet-lover rest.

The next night a case came up, and Sherlock temporarily forgot his DNA related plans. It was exhilarating chasing after baddies. There was a whole gang this time, and it was perfect. John got aggressive with three of them before the police finally arrived, and Sherlock managed hold his own against a further two. Overall, the conclusion of the case after only a handful of nights was deeply satisfying. As per his normal habit, Sherlock ate until he was over-stuffed since he didn’t eat while he worked, drank enough water, juice, and tea to float a small ship, then slept himself out, remaining in bed for nearly twenty-four hours, only getting out to use the loo before going back to his rest.

He woke up feverish. It didn’t feel good. In fact, it felt awful. Normally Sherlock didn’t get embarrassed with bodily functions, but for the first time ever he was grateful that John was away at work. It gave him a chance to remain on the pot for what felt like hours. Whatever the illness was, Sherlock was completely hollowed out by it. At long last he was able to leave his throne, climbing into the shower to stand under the blasting water until his fevered brow had somewhat cooled, and his body felt less like he’d been pressed flat by a steam-roller.

A bit later, after drying off, brushing his teeth, and changing into his most comfortable set of pyjamas, Sherlock found that he was ravenous again. Not bothering to shave, he scratched his scruffy chin. Normally he’d shout down to Mrs. Hudson, but she was vacationing with her sister again. Checking the clock, he saw that John wouldn’t be home for hours more. Sherlock couldn’t wait that long, he needed food, lots of it, immediately. The detective ordered take-away again, selecting meal combinations from three different places because he couldn’t decide. John would be a bit put out with the amount of left-overs, but it wasn’t as if Sherlock had a choice. John was always telling him to eat more, he was just following the doctor’s orders.

Half an hour later Sherlock was tucking into one of several spicy curry dishes with a side of burgers and crisps. A large platter of sushi rolls was in the fridge to stay cool, but Sherlock had every intention of trying one of everything. He sat at their kitchen table, surrounded by containers of sides and entrees, and ate. He ate, and ate, and ate, until with a huge amount of surprise, Sherlock discovered he’d finished nearly everything. With some chagrin he assembled the paltry remainder on a plate, arranging everything as attractively as he could to distract John from seeing how small the portions were. Packing up all the empty containers, he filled the bin before taking the debris to the skip in the alley. John didn’t need to know how much food he’d missed out on.

He'd only sat down again when John finally arrived, “Sherlock, I won a cake in the office raffle, look, it’s one of those fluffy chocolaty things.” John was at the door, and he had a large pastry box in his hand, “Let’s have a slice after dinner, it looks amazing.”

“I’m not hungry. There’s a plate in the fridge for you.” Sherlock opened the cake box. It looked incredible. Someone had dipped a three-layer cake into a vat of melted chocolate before going wild with a piping tube and a tub of whipped cream. Sherlock ate a bit of cream, using his finger to scoop a taste to his mouth, “Maybe a small slice.”

“Oi, dinner first.” protested John.

“I ate earlier.” Ignoring the alpha, Sherlock served himself a thin slice of cake, watching John eat his dinner while enjoying one forkful at a time of the confection. There was raspberry cream in between the layers. _Heaven!_ When John had finished his meal Sherlock cut him a generous slab, serving it directly to him, “It’s delicious.”

John looked startled, probably because he’d not only gotten dinner without effort, but Sherlock was serving him food, something he practically never did. “Thanks.” They ate in silence, Sherlock putting a second, larger, piece on his own plate, to keep John company while he finished. To himself, Sherlock calculated that he’d consumed more calories that day than he had the entire month beforehand. He didn’t feel overfull, he felt content, and even comfortable.

“Something in the flat smells spectacular,” remarked John, taking the soiled dishes to the sink and dumping them in the water. Efficiently he washed up, even making tea which they took the to sofa to enjoy, “Did you do something to it?”

“I cleaned a bit,” admitted Sherlock, sniffing the air surreptitiously. It smelled a bit like Mrs. Hudson had been baking, but she wasn’t home. Sherlock felt strange again. His face felt hot. His chest felt tight. His buttocks were clenching, and he felt light-headed, “I didn’t feel well earlier.” _Perhaps he was still ill. His temperature was rising, clearly. His heart was beating faster too; illness was the only possible explanation_.

“What?” instantly John set his tea down, pressing his hand to Sherlock’s forehead instead, “You do feel a bit warm.”

The moment John’s hand was on him, relief flooded the omega from head to toe. Sighing deeply Sherlock sagged toward the alpha, resting his forehead on John’s strong shoulder without pause, “That feels better.”

“Does it?” John’s voice sounded odd, as if he were surprised and suspicious at the same time. Casually the doctor’s hand rubbed against the back of Sherlock’s neck. The omega felt his whole upper body relax, and with something like a rumbling purr, Sherlock let himself press against John, their tea abandoned, “How about now?”

“Wonderful John. That feels wonderful.” Sherlock’s eyes shut, and his mouth turned up into a smile. He still felt overheated, but deliciously so.

John cleared his throat, “Sherlock, I want to check something. Tell me exactly what you feel.”

Sherlock kept his eyes shut, but felt John’s fingers wrap about his wrist, pushing his hand behind his back and twisting it up. He should have felt defensive but he didn’t. John was fully capable of physically overpowering Sherlock, and _that_ thought was strangely arousing. He recalled his mental note to look up _how_ to have sex, and hoped that it was at least as pleasant as John’s examination. “Oh yes John.” He sighed instead, “Lovely.”

John was silent for a moment, but he released Sherlock’s hand. His voice was very even, “What about _this?”_ John rubbed Sherlock’s back in small circles, and with a soft cry, Sherlock begged him to continue, “Okay Sherlock, alright, you know I’ll take care of you, whatever you want. You just let me know somehow.”

It took several long minutes before Sherlock realized that not only was he inside John’s personal space, but that they were physically touching, torso to torso. He swallowed hard and wondered what it would be like to feel more. “I need to stretch out John, I haven’t been well!” the alpha went still, “Please John.”

“Where?” John sounded studiously offhand, as if he didn’t care.

“My room. It’s closer, but you have to close all the drapes. My eyes hurt.” Sherlock suddenly wanted things dimmer, it was awfully bright for this late in the day. John helped him up, and let Sherlock lean on him until they got to his room. The detective didn’t want the soldier to leave. He was comforting. Sherlock had an idea, “Lay with me, it makes sense for you to observe me, to see what’s wrong.” _That was reasonable, wasn’t it?_

“Oh?” John was already closing the curtains the way Sherlock had asked, “I suppose that’s sensible. I am a doctor, after all.”

 _John was so very accommodating. It was one of his better characteristics_. Sherlock nearly purred again, pleased that things were working according to plan. Without thinking about _why_ he was doing so, Sherlock bent his neck to move his head to the side, deliberately baring his throat to John. If he hadn’t deleted his lessons he would have known that this was a clear sign of encouragement, one that an omega only gave after an alpha had successfully demonstrated the many personal requirements an omega had during the search for a fit bond-mate. He heard John swallow loudly, but before he could do anything further John went to the bed to turn down the covers. “In you go, if you’re not well you shouldn’t let yourself get chilled. I know most people think that wearing clothes will help keep you warm in bed, but in fact, it makes things worse by keeping the heat out and the cold in. Strip down, and get in.” Sherlock obediently got in, and suffered to be tucked up, “I’m going to get my med kit, you need looking over.”

“Oh fine.” Sherlock slipped into a sulk. _Maybe he really was ill. Perhaps he looked sickly and dreadful_. The second John left the room Sherlock used his mobile’s camera to inspect himself. He looked a bit flushed but not awful, his forehead was dewy with perspiration. It gave him a healthy glow and Sherlock sighed with relief. He would still be able to seduce John, if he needed to.

The doctor returned, and Sherlock did groan miserably when he saw the kit and realized that John really was going to give him a medical looking over. “Open your mouth, temperature.” John set about doing all the boring things he did whenever he got doctor-y. He even pulled out his stethoscope, pulling away the blanket, listening to Sherlock heart and lungs. “I’m going to palpate you now, to check for swelling. If there’s tender spots you let me know right away.”

 _John was so thorough!_ Normally this would please Sherlock, but right then it was annoying as hell. Ill or not, he was trying to work out how to seduce the man, not have his charts updated! “There isn’t any swelling! I just don’t feel well.”

John made a disapproving sound, “You’re too warm, that’s often the body’s way of giving us a health warning. It won’t take long, and you’re probably right, there won’t be any swelling, but, better safe than sorry.” John began to check Sherlock over, his hands strong and sure as he manipulated Sherlock’s limb, checking every inch of him with care. Sherlock found that his breathing had slowed, and that he was growing calmer. When John let him lay on his stomach once again to continue his examination, Sherlock found himself reacting to the doctor’s touch. It felt marvelous to be handled in such a fashion, firm but gentle, strong but not painful, sure. John pressed his fingertips systematically over Sherlock back and hips, working over his buttocks, and down his legs right to his toes. When John gently urged him onto his back again there was a moment of silence, “I think I’ve discovered the issue.”

Sherlock looked downward, and was completely flustered. He had an erection, and it wasn’t being subtle. His sheet was pushed upward dramatically, and in no way could be confused for anything but what it was. “I don’t understand.” _They had done nothing sexual, had they? He needed to remember to do some research about actual sex. Why was his transport doing this? He hadn’t told it to!_

“It’s alright Sherlock, just a natural response to stimuli. It just means that everything is in working order, nothing to worry about.” John was soothing.

“Technically it _is_ swelling though,” noted Sherlock, “As my doctor you are obliged to help me.”

“Very true Sherlock, very true.” John opened his kit again, extracted a tube of ointment, and pulled on a pair of latex gloves. “There are rare cases of erectile dysfunction that are quite painful, let’s not let it get to that point.”

“Excellent suggestion.” John’s expression remained professional. Solicitously, the doctor pulled the blankets up to cover Sherlock’s legs.

“Now, I’m going to help you with this swelling, but I might have to check one or two other places during the procedure. Is that alright?” John sounded serious.

“Do what you must John, you’re the one with the medical degree.” Sherlock wondered what places John was referring to.

“Good to know. Okay, I’m going to begin.” John squeezed a generous amount of ointment onto one palm, “Medical grade lubricant, to prevent abrasion of the dermis and other delicate tissue.”  Calmly John wrapped his hand around Sherlock’s cock, “This is pretty basic. It will involve repetitious application of pressure as well as friction. When I feel the need to make technical adjustments, I’ll give you a verbal warning before I begin.”

Sherlock was breathing harder now because John’s hand was gliding up and down his cock, not holding it firmly, but enough to distract Sherlock’s heightened senses. It felt incredible, but John’s face showed not a hint of arousal. He looked professionally concerned, no different than when he was sewing up stitches, or changing dressings. Still, he _was_ holding Sherlock’s cock, and that was something at least. Helpfully Sherlock spread his legs a bit, and John hummed his approval. For a minute or so they just stayed as they were in silence, John’s hand gliding wetly up and down Sherlock’s very happy penis. “I’ll need you to lift the leg furthest from me, for the next stage of the procedure.”

John still looked very much the doctor, but since this was getting Sherlock closer to his goal of sex, he didn’t object, raising his knee to his chest, and holding the back of his leg to keep it in place, “Go on then.” His voice had gotten deeper, heavy with a growing sensation of hunger.

“Excellent. I’m going to check your prostate to make sure there’s nothing wrong. You don’t mind an internal cavity search, do you?” Prostate exams were highly unpleasant, but Sherlock was determined to have some bit of John Watson inside him. At his terse nod, John began, “Most blokes don’t like this, but I’m highly trained, this won’t be a bit painful.”

John began by adding more lube, this time to his other hand. While he resumed stroking Sherlock’s cock, he reached down between Sherlock’s thighs, and pressed a slick finger between his buttocks, “John?”

“I’m going to do a second procedure simultaneously. It’s a known method to minimize the discomfort that normally occurs.” John began to press and swirl the pad of his finger over and around Sherlock’s anus. It felt strange and wonderful at the same time. After a few minutes John’s fingertip slipped in easily, “Well done Sherlock, this won’t take much longer.”

Sherlock couldn’t speak. John’s hand on his cock was beautiful, and the finger up his arse felt marvelous. John was pumping it in and out in time with his strokes, going deeper each time. “No rush.” He rasped. _John could do this all night if he wanted to_.

“Excellent point, rushing could cause damage. Here, this will help even more.” John began to nudge in a second finger, both digits together stretching and opening Sherlock’s hole until they were plunging in and out easily. John had made no attempt to actually examine Sherlock’s prostate, but the scientist assumed that the doctor would get there in good time. It all felt rather delicious, and he didn’t want it to be over, “Ah. There we are.”

Sherlock felt almost gentle cramping in his lower abdomen. It felt as if his bowels were loosening, and with alarm he realized he really needed the loo before he disgraced himself, and disgusted John, “Excuse me.” He said numbly, humiliation rising up. _This was most inopportune!_

“No, no. Nothing to be embarrassed about. You’re an omega. This is a perfectly normal reaction to this particular procedure. John extracted his hand and raised it for Sherlock to see. The latex cover glistened with something clear and slick, “See? Nothing wrong.”

Sherlock saw John’s nose twitch, and then the doctor’s eyes dilated a bit. John swallowed hard, but put his hand back to where it had been, and continued, now adding a third finger, “When are you going to examine my prostate?”

“Right now,” answered John, “Bear down.” Sherlock did as he was instructed, and felt the tip of John’s finger carefully press deep, pushing exactly right at a particular spot. His response was instantaneous and unscripted. Sherlock’s back arched and he moaned so loudly he was certain Mrs. Hudson would have heard, had she been home. “There we go, relax Sherlock, don’t hold anything back. I need to know how you respond to the exam.”

 _Well, John was a doctor. He was trained to deal with all sorts of situations. Perhaps all his noises were telling him something?_ It didn’t matter because Sherlock couldn’t stop himself if he wanted to, and he didn’t want to. John continued to stroke him, now adding a bit of a squeeze to the end of his cock, and the occasional thumb swipe over the glans. Sherlock felt his entire body begin to tense, but John nodded approvingly, “John…” Sherlock cried out a warning. He wasn’t sure if this was John’s actual goal, but unless he stopped entirely, the consequence was inevitable, “John!”

“That’s it Sherlock. Let it happen. No worries, just let me finish.” Both of John’s hands were moving in synchronicity. Sherlock was gasping now, his large hands clutching at the sheets, sweat dripping from his forehead. Somehow John managed to push a fourth finger into Sherlock's behind, pressing the tips against his prostate right at the same instant he rubbed the head of Sherlock’s stone-hard cock.

It felt so good that Sherlock was moaning continuously, but it wasn’t enough to tip him over the peak. He was so close to his crisis that he wasn’t thinking clearly, “More John. I need more.”

“More? I don’t have any fingers to spare.” John was right. His entire hand was working at Sherlock’s behind, “Well, there is _something_ I could try, if you want.”

“Anything John, just do it now!” demanded Sherlock. His body was on fire. His nerves were sparking, sending jolts of delight all over. Sherlock was sweaty from head to toe, and had entirely forgotten his goal of seducing John. He couldn’t think. He was made of pure need, and was entirely at John’s mercy.

Sherlock almost began to cry when John removed both his hands and stood up. “No, no. I’m not going anywhere, but this technique works best _skin to skin_. Give me a moment.” John was removing his latex gloves, but also his fluffy jumper, his socks, and even his trousers. At the last moment, the doctor removed his pants as well, revealing a larger-than average alpha cock in a state of full tumescence. He then climbed into Sherlock’s bed, turning the detective onto his side to spoon behind him. Sherlock saw him reach for the lubricant, “I’m going to resume the procedure using a different technique.” John informed him as promised. The doctor shuffled a bit closer, “You’re going to feel pressure again, and then I’ll continue the treatment.”

Sherlock felt something wide and blunt press against his anus, and with relief he let it push inside. It was so satisfying. John’s bared but lubed hand resumed stroking his cock as the object pressed in slowly. It was _very_ thick, and quite warm. It retreated an inch or so, but then slid in deeper. Sherlock moaned, rocking his hips to encourage penetration. “That’s it John, that feels good.” He sighed. He felt so much better now. _This really was doing all the right things for him. The emptiness from earlier was gone, he felt complete again, not exactly satisfied, but paradoxically content_.

“Move your knee higher, I’ll be able to work easier.” Requested the doctor. Sherlock did as he was asked, and felt the pressure in his anus increase. “My cock is pretty thick; it’s probably doing a better job relieving the stress than my hand was.”

“It’s exactly right John, good thinking.” Sherlock groaned as John picked up both pace and depth. Now that he knew it was John’s _member_ inside him Sherlock grew thrilled. If he ever managed to have _proper_ sex with John, everything was guaranteed to fit correctly. It was a load off his mind. All the facts were in. Successful coitus was possible. He relaxed completely now, leaving himself in John’s capable, talented, healing hands. Good thing John was such a devoted doctor; Sherlock hadn’t considered medical intervention to be a pathway to successful intercourse. Now all he needed to do was wait until he was in heat, and voila, one gift to humanity would be _en route_.

John was breathing heavily, but Sherlock found it matched his own panting breaths. This massage was quite special, he’d never been tended like this before, but then John was a doctor with an unusual background. He’d probably learned all sorts of unconventional methods while he was abroad. Somehow or other they slithered around until John was laying on Sherlock’s back, his hips moving rhythmically. It felt amazing, so amazing, that Sherlock could not stop his moans from becoming louder and more plentiful. As incredible as it was though, it still wasn’t enough and his moans grew frustrated, “John!” he cried petulantly at last, “Fix me!”

John was panting hard. “Okay, there’s one last thing we can try, but that means switching positions.” Sherlock groaned with frustration, “Don’t worry Sherlock. You’ll be in control, so you can tell me if it’s working or not. We can do this, we can.”

Much encouraged, Sherlock allowed John to pull out, lay on his back, and then climbed aboard the soldier. John’s phallus was massive. If it hadn’t already been inside him, Sherlock wasn’t sure he’d believe it could ever fit. He saw that above John’s testicles a slight bulge was growing bigger, “A knot.” The fluid from his behind seemed to increase dramatically at the sight of it.

“Yes. My knot.” John paused, “If we stimulate it to harden, you could see if that makes your tension go away.”

Sherlock nodded. That was logical. After all, fingers had felt fantastic until the stretch and burn had disappeared. When John put his penis in, it too had felt just right until the stretch was no longer noticeable. A knot might be just the thing. “How do I do it?”

“You don’t have to do anything. Just get back on, and it will happen on its own.” _Well, that was very convenient. Nature was a marvel_. Straddling John’s hips to face him, Sherlock knelt over his doctor, and allowed John to push his very-wide glans back into Sherlock’s very wet anus, “Go on, at your own pace.”

That was very accommodating of him. Not many doctors allowed their patients such leeway. With a satisfied sigh Sherlock allowed himself to settle. It felt fantastic, as if he were full all the way to his stomach. Moving cautiously at first it didn’t take long before Sherlock was bouncing up and down with abandon, his own cock slapping down onto John’s soft belly as he got on with it. As promised, John’s knot swelled. It was large but soft at first, but grew harder and bigger each time Sherlock’s bottom brushed against it. It felt like a stone ring by the time the omega felt frustration rise again. “I want it, John.” He cried. “Please.”

“Okay Sherlock, it’s going to be okay.” John stroked Sherlock’s hips for a second before adding lube to his palm once more. “I’m going to resume the massage. Bear down, don’t go too fast, and let it in you.”

Sherlock was desperate for resolution now. Rocking his hips to enjoy the feel of the steely hard shaft inside him, he began to push more and more of John into his body. He felt his fluids increase even more, and could hear the sloppy moist sounds coming from where their bodies met, but that seemed to excite both of them. “Oh John.” Sherlock put both palms onto John’s chest to steady himself. He used his bodyweight to help his hips move downward, and felt his entrance reluctantly begin to give way. It stung a tiny bit, then it stung a great deal, and with something close to a screech of pain, Sherlock felt his body nearly tear open as he forced himself over John’s knot. With a very loud pop it passed his sphincters, lodging tight inside him.

The bliss was mind-bending. Sherlock saw a riot of colors behind his eyes. He could feel the cries of absolute ecstasy escape him, but his ears were filled with the roar of his own blood pumping through his veins. His nerves sang with bliss. Electric shocks of delight made his limbs and torso jerk erratically. He was simultaneously boiling and melting from the inside out. He twitched, and the pleasure grew to impossible heights. “Sherlock! Sherlock!” John was shouting too, and with a start, Sherlock felt soft hot pulses deep within himself. His body reacted by filling him with a second wave of glory, and Sherlock felt his own cock throb, releasing pearly drops onto John’s knuckles.

Sherlock passed out. When he came too he was laying in bed alone, tucked under the blankets, but he could smell John as if the man were right next to him. It was wonderful. His backside ached pleasantly, and it was obvious that John had cleaned him up after the treatment, but his disobedient transport was still creating the clear viscous fluid in abundance. John had considerately lain a towel beneath him, so the mess was contained, “John?” he called for his doctor, “John, where are you?”

“Here, I’m right here. I just had to make a few calls.” John was wearing Sherlock’s robe, and had his mobile in his hand. He dropped it onto the nightstand before getting back into bed with Sherlock who found himself cuddling next to his friend almost instantly, “You’re going to need attention for the next few days. I’ve just called into work telling them I won’t be available.”

Sherlock felt good. He _should_ be John’s priority anyway. Work was dull, and Sherlock was exciting. John was a doctor, and he was a patient. John was needed here at 221 B Baker Street, and not at the dull clinic helping old ladies with their hypochondria. “Excellent. I still don’t feel like myself.” He was still a bit feverish, and tense all over again, “I think I need another treatment.”

“You do. You might need several, but that’s okay. I’m here to help you with all of it.” John was the best doctor alive because in only minutes he was back inside Sherlock, thrusting energetically in and out. Sherlock was on his back this time, his legs spread high and wide, just enjoying the hell out of medicine. It took much longer this way because John insisted that Sherlock finish twice before he did, but he was the professional after all, he did know best. Sherlock followed doctor’s orders yet again, making a mess on his own flat belly before John managed to push his massive knot back into Sherlock’s behind. The detective passed out again, it was too good.

For the next five days Sherlock needed several treatments a day. On day three he needed no less than a dozen! John was devoted to his care, making himself available 24 hours a day, letting Sherlock ride him when he felt like it, or doing all the work himself. At least once a day they ate some take-away, but didn’t seem to need the loo the way they normally did except to urinate. His bum hurt beautifully, and he didn’t feel happy unless John was buried to the hilt inside him. They even began sleeping that way, with John stuffed up to his flaccid knot deep inside Sherlock. It was comforting.

Sherlock woke on day six to John snuffling at his neck. There was something very different about today. The detective felt content, happy, satisfied, and…not the same. His tummy felt strained, as if it were pushing out instead of remaining flat the way it always had been, and when he looked at it he saw a definite curve to it, “Semen.” Reported John, sounding very certain, “You’re full of it. From me.” _As if it could be anyone else’s!_

Sherlock was shocked when John pushed his head to the side and bit down on his neck hard enough to break skin, “What are you doing?”

“What I’m supposed to do.” John licked the wound, and Sherlock felt the pain of it disappear, “This is the end of your treatment. It’s all done for now. It worked.”

“It worked?” Sherlock wasn’t sick any more? He felt both glad and sad. He certainly didn’t want to be ill forever, but the treatment had been very interesting. In fact, Sherlock wouldn’t mind more treatments every single day from now on. Perhaps he could fake being ill?

“It worked. I can smell it.” Alpha noses were the most sensitive noses in the world. John could scent better than any bloodhound. It was part of what made him such an amazing doctor, as well as an irreplaceable consulting detective’s assistant.

Sherlock felt a bit dizzy for a moment, as if he could sense two sets of external data at the same time. “What worked?”

“Breeding. You’re pregnant. It’s mine. I made a baby inside you this week.” John was insufferably proud sounding, “You’re having my cub, and I just bonded you to me.”

“What? How is that possible?” Sherlock was utterly confused, “I need to be in heat first! We need to have sex! I haven’t finished my research yet.” Did he want to be bonded to John? It didn’t matter if he did or didn’t, he was now, and bonds could not be broken.

John was smiling down at him. “What do you think this past week was all about? You were in heat. We had sex, a lot of sex. I did my best to make it good for you. Are you alright?”

It hadn’t been a medical treatment. Sherlock’s face turned dusky with embarrassment. How had he not put the clues together? It was so blatantly obvious now that they had been having relations for days. Sherlock was entirely embarrassed. He’d been to the zoo. He’d seen primates copulate. How had he not understood what was going on. “Oh.”

John pressed their foreheads together, “You’re my omega now, and I’m your alpha. You’re having my cub, and I’m going to look after both of you for the rest of my life.” John sounded so pleased, and he smelled very proud. “Is that alright?”

Was it? Quickly Sherlock went over the facts. He wanted a baby. _Check_. He wanted John to make the baby in him. _Check_. John was his best friend. _Check_. John wanted to be with him forever. _Check_. They were properly bonded; his child would not be an outcast. _Check_. “I’m perfect.”

“Yes you are, absolutely perfect. You’re the most talented, smartest, cleverest, handsomest omega in the whole world.” John kissed his temple, and Sherlock blushed again.

“The whole world? I think you’re exaggerating.” Sherlock was unaccustomed to modesty but it seemed appropriate for the moment.

“No. I’ve traveled all over. You’re the only omega for me, and I’ll never let another alpha take you from me. You’re having my baby, and I’m the happiest alpha alive.” John kissed his mouth for the first time, and Sherlock felt himself melting all over again. This time it was warm instead of burning, but it made him feel soft on the inside.

“If you insist John.” Sherlock tried to sound offhand but he was very pleased. This was even better than he imagined, and the kisses were causing a strange confession to burst forth, “I love you John. My alpha.”

John pressed his face to Sherlock’s neck and breathed deep for a long minute. When he sat back, Sherlock could see his eyes were red and a bit shiny, but that his alpha was smiling hugely, “I love you too Sherlock. I always have.”


End file.
